Flickering Innocence
by Vivid Escapist
Summary: Henry learns the hard way that late-night walks don't often bode well. Abe learns something too. (Past fic)


**A/N: This is without a doubt the longest time I've ever spent working on a short story. I actually started back in November, before the episode when Abe mentioned their old address was 69th and 2nd, but I already had the Fort Greene Park idea pretty set. My excuse is that they lived in Brooklyn when Abe was very young and moved to Manhattan shortly after this story.**

**I would like to give 2,000 thank you's and a bouquet of virtual flowers to my beta, rockpaperscissor. This story is probably twice the length and 40 times better than it would have been without them. Also, thank you to truthisademurelady/idelthoughts for helping me put the final touches on and making parts more realistic. You guys are the best!**

**There will be a second part to this, but not for a while. I have some other things I need to work on first *cough* Lucas Week *cough*.**

* * *

March 18, 1950

Henry had hoped Abe would be a little older before being exposed to his father's secret. He had no intention of keeping the information from the child forever, but kindergarten was too early. Maybe when Abe was a teenager, or when he graduated high school. A six-year-old didn't have the capacity to understand immortality.

A six-year-old also didn't have the capacity to watch his father bleed out in front of him. The mugger was long gone, and hadn't harmed Abe—thank God—but Henry was about to leave his son alone in the middle of the largest city on Earth. Alone, and under the impression his dad was dead.

"Daddy," Abe sobbed. He was clasping Henry's hands, rocking on his heels. Henry wanted nothing more than to brush the tears from his cheeks.

The assailant had been young, but skillful; he'd known exactly where to put his knife in order to fatally wound Henry. Attempting to move was futile, so Henry focused instead on collecting his breath. He needed to make the most of the few seconds he had left before he bobbed up in the East River.

"Daddy, please."

Henry attempted to say his son's name, but only managed a cough. He cleared his throat. "Abe, it's…" He wanted to say it's going to be fine but another cough interrupted him, sending tremors of pain through his chest. He'd almost forgotten what being stabbed felt like—definitely a seven at this point.

But the physical pain was pins and needles compared to watching the emotional trauma play over his child's face. Henry gazed into Abe's eyes—wide and full of fear—and felt his heart crumble. Injury wasn't a foreign concept to Abe; as a doctor's son, he had witnessed more blood and bruising than the average teenager saw in action movies. However, the consequences of serious injuries, death among them, were less familiar.

"What's gonna happen?"

When Henry didn't answer, Abe crawled closer. He hugged his father fiercely, as if trying to keep him anchored.

Henry gathered his strength, determined to use the proximity to his advantage. Abe was clearly not going to be left emotionally unscathed from this experience no matter the words said, but Henry needed to guarantee his safety. "Abe, listen," he whispered.

The boy perked up immediately. "Daddy? Are you going to be okay?"

Henry attempted to nod, but wasn't sure if the gesture was received. "I'm going to go away soon, but I'll be back. I will—" Henry gasped. His grip on reality was slipping fast; consciousness wouldn't be far behind. He didn't have time to comfort his son—only instruct him. Henry took a few more shallow breaths, trying to think.

Abe's eyes didn't waver from Henry for a single second. It was the same trusting expression that filled the boy's gaze when he scraped his knee falling off his bike, or asked his dad to check under the bed for monsters. The kind of unconditional trust that only a child could have. Henry would be damned if he let him down.

"Please don't go." Abe sniffled, releasing one of Henry's hands to rub his nose. A spot of blood smeared on his cheek. The red looked so horribly wrong on the face of a six-year-old—almost as cruel as the numbers branding his son's arm.

Henry closed his eyes briefly, trying to picture their current location in his mind. They were too far from home to send Abe there alone at this hour. It was too late for them to be out at all, and for that Henry blamed himself. He should have known better than to take a walk at night and put his child in danger. But reproaching himself would have to wait.

The library was closed. Abigail was on shift at the hospital, even farther from their apartment. The park….of course!

"Your secret base." Henry realized he couldn't open his eyes. He could still feel his son next to him, and hear his tear-labored breaths, but the sight of Abe was beyond his reach. He prayed it wouldn't be for long. "Where you fight the bad guys." Henry paused, choking from lack of oxygen. "Go there. I'll come find you…" Henry tried to give one last encouragement, but his words were gone.

Another second and the pain was gone too. Everything was gone, except Abe's hand on his.

"Daddy?"

Henry thought he felt his son brush his cheek.

And then nothing.

* * *

He was in water. Henry swam in the direction he thought was up, and suddenly he was at the surface, gasping in the chill night air. Normally he'd bristle at being forcefully dropped in the icy river, but now it was welcoming.

He was alive again. He could find Abraham.

Henry wasted no time treading to shore. Without even a cursory glance around, he tore out of the water and sprinted across the ground. He swerved around lamp posts and trees and one very disturbed pedestrian who gave him a disapproving glare. Henry couldn't care less at moment. His state of dress (or lack thereof) was his last concern.

Several blocks later, Henry was re-evaluating that claim. The temperature itself wasn't terribly brisk for March, but he had the added disadvantage of being damp and naked. It would only be counter-intuitive if he caught hypothermia and ended up back in the river. Plus, approaching Abe—already upset and confused—without any clothes on was a less-than-ideal situation.

Preoccupied with this thought process, Henry made a severely-sharp turn around a corner and was met with a slap of grey fabric to the face. He stumbled, barely catching hold of a lamp post to stop his fall.

"What in the world—" He cut his complaint short. Caught on the edge of the lamp post was the offending article—a tattered wool blanket. From the threadbare seams to the layer of mysterious grime coating the edges, it wasn't difficult to understand why the blanket had been abandoned. It was no longer suited for keeping warm in one's home, but for Henry's purposes, it was sufficient. He snatched the blanket, wrapped it around himself, and kept running.

Henry arrived at Fort Greene Park short of breath. It wasn't the closest park to their home, but Abe was fascinated by the war monument that stood in the area's center. He loved to play around the base of the monument, pretending he was an American soldier eluding capture, and had aptly dubbed the hiding spot his secret base.

The moment his feet touched grass, Henry bee-lined towards the monument. He couldn't even recall the last ten minutes of his sprint, having focused an internal monologue through his head consisting of nothing but find Abe.

With his destination in sight, Henry realized he couldn't stand the wait any longer. Nerves were buzzing through his entire body, adrenaline at full.

"Abraham!" he called.

The only response was the sound of the wind picking up speed.

Henry skidded to a stop at the base of the monument and jogged circles around the column, peering in every direction. Nothing. He ran down the steps in front of the monument, rushing to the crypt doorway…to see it empty. His son was nowhere in sight.

"Abe! Abraham, where are you?!" He shouted Abe's name a dozen more times until his voice felt weak. Each time he received no answer, his heart sunk more.

Full panic was setting in now, replenishing Henry's brain with all the horrifying possibilities he'd been trying to ignore. Had Abe simply gotten lost? Or had someone taken him? Was he still frozen in shock, staring at the ground where Henry's body had disappeared?

Henry was preparing to trek back to the location of their mugging when he heard a faint whimpering sound coming from the edge of a patch of trees. He stepped closer, catching sight of his son's scarf peeking out from behind a trunk.

"Abraham?"

The whimpering stopped. Henry circled behind the tree, then exhaled with incredible relief.

Abe was sitting on the ground against the tree trunk, knees pulled up to his chest. He lifted his head up at Henry's arrival. Abe stared at his father, squinting in the darkness, until the realization finally clicked.

"Daddy!"

Henry didn't make it more than a step forward before Abe was in his arms, holding on for dear life. Henry returned the hug ten-fold. He kissed the top of his son's head, as he'd been longing to do since he broke the surface of the river.

"Abe, I'm so sorry." He brushed a hand through the boy's hair. "Everything's okay now—you're okay."

Thank God that was true. Henry held Abe at arm's length, inspecting him for any sign of injury. Aside from red and puffy eyes, Henry saw none.

"But, wait." Abe pulled away from Henry, putting a few inches of space between them. "You died. I saw you. And then you went away. Don't people go to heaven when they do that?"

Henry recalled Abigail having a conversation with Abe the year before, after the family goldfish had taken a trip down the plumbing. Although Henry didn't have faith left himself, Abigail did, and he conceded that a belief in heaven was the best way to explain death to a five-year-old. Of course, when Henry had vanished right in front of Abraham, where else would the child think he had gone?

In hindsight, perhaps he should have taken a shot at explaining immortality last year too.

"Most people. It's different for me."

Abe puzzled over that idea briefly, then shook his head. "Or maybe you're not real. You could be someone trying to trick me." The blanket on Henry's shoulders caught the Abe's attention for the first time, provoking the boy to take a quick step backwards. "Daddy wasn't dressed like that when he died."

The shift to third person did not go unnoticed by Henry. Abe was regarding his father now with faint apprehension, rather than ease. Henry recognized the inclination to bolt in his twitching feet. If Abe ran away from him now, it would be near-impossible to coax the child back.

Henry sat down in front of his son. He made his voice as gentle as possible, choosing his words carefully. "I know you're frightened. A lot of scary things have happened that don't make sense, but it is me. You can ask me anything you'd like."

Abe studied Henry with intense scrutiny, seeming to consider the offer. "Okay. What's my favorite color?"

"Well, that's rather complicated; you change your mind every week. At the moment, I believe it's green. Correct?"

"Yes." Abe put his hands in his coat pockets. He shivered slightly, but enough to make Henry worry.

He needed to get his son home.

"What food does Mommy make for dinner on Sundays?"

"Ah, that's an easy one. Our favorite: lasagna. Last week you told me it wasn't as good as usual, but that's our little secret, hm?" Henry winked, same as he had when Abe had whispered the comment to him under the table.

Abe quirked his lips into a smile for a moment, but it disappeared just as fast. With a serious expression, he continued. "One more. Daddy has a weird scar, right here." Abe tapped the left side of his chest. "So if you're him, you have it too. Let me see."

"Smart thinking." Henry pulled the blanket aside, revealing the one marking that would never leave his body. "Come take a look for yourself, Abraham."

His son inched forward. When he was close enough, Abe leaned in to inspect the scar. "It's really you?"

Henry nodded.

"How did you do it? Do you have magic powers? Or superpowers? Or…" Abe interrupted his own rambling with a yawn.

"I'll tell you all about it, but let's go home first, hm?"

Abe was clearly too tired to object, stepping close to lean against his father. Henry readjusted the blanket to stay in place, then picked Abe up and rose to his feet. As he navigated out of the park, Abe settled his head on Henry's shoulder, peaceful at last.

Within minutes the child's breathing slowed in the telltale sign of sleep. Henry noticed Abe put his thumb in his mouth, a habit which—before today—had long passed. A thick knot settled in Henry's stomach as he considered just how deeply the evening's events had affected his son. He would have to keep a close eye on Abe for a while, regardless of how well he took to the immortality idea.

Henry quickened his pace as he felt Abe shudder from the cold. He hugged the boy closer, rubbing circles on his back.

"We'll be home soon, Abraham."

* * *

It didn't take Henry long to use his charm (and a trace of desperation) to convince one of their neighbors to buzz them into the building. The couple across the hall kept strange hours and didn't ask many questions. Luckily they weren't able to see him, or his cover story would have needed a bit more work.

Henry used the spare key Abigail had hidden under the doormat (for situations such as these) to enter their apartment, then immediately brought Abe to his bedroom. He placed the child gently on his bed, careful not to wake him. His son was generally a light sleeper, but the night's events had thoroughly exhausted both of them; Henry wouldn't be surprised if Abe slept until noon.

Though he was reluctant to let Abe out of his sight, Henry knew a proper set of clothes was in order. He made a quick stop in his own room to change—tossing the blanket in the waste bin—and promptly returned to his son. Abe had folded his hands under his head. Soft snores filled the room, comforting Henry.

Abe was okay. They were both okay. Tomorrow there would be a lot to talk about, but as long as his son was safe, everything else was manageable.

Abe remained fast asleep as Henry tugged off his shoes, coat and scarf. He pulled blankets over him, dismissing the idea of pajamas. Abe could sleep in his clothes for one night; Henry didn't want to risk disturbing him. He smoothed back his son's hair and kissed his forehead.

"Sleep well."

* * *

Henry was still awake when Abigail came home from her shift. He pretended to be engrossed in the book he was reading, but truthfully he'd been getting up every fifteen minutes to check on Abe.

Abigail saw right through him. "Henry, I know full well that you've read that novel three times. I assure you the ending hasn't changed." She sat next to him, took the book away and placed it on their nightstand. "What's really bothering you?"

Henry drummed his fingers on the side of his leg, stalling.

"Is everything alright with Abe?" Abigail turned to the doorway, as if she wanted to go look in on him herself.

"No," Henry assured. "He's sleeping. Everything is fine now."

"Now?"

Henry sighed—he might as well just spit it out. "I died tonight. Abraham was there."

Abigail stilled. "Oh, Henry…"

"I was foolish and neglectful and should never have put us in that position. I was feeling restless and wanted to go for a walk, so of course I took Abe with me." Henry blinked hard, imagining the scene in his mind. Blood on his son's face, and his cries... "We were mugged. Well, the man tried to mug us. I didn't bring any money, so he stabbed me instead. He didn't touch Abe, thankfully, but I died and I left him there by himself—"

"Henry, darling, calm down." Abigail grabbed Henry's hands. "Take a deep breath."

He tried to, honestly, but the air wasn't coming. The full weight of events came crashing down all at once. His son could have been stabbed or grabbed off the street or gotten lost in the middle of the night, and it was completely Henry's fault. As it was, Abe had been forced to witness his father's brutal death—the traumatic consequences of which were unforeseeable.

"Henry, breathe."

Henry suddenly became aware of Abigail clutching his hand. She was right—his current line of thought wasn't going to send him anywhere good. He squeezed back, focusing on her touch instead. A few slow, forced breaths later, he straightened his gaze on Abigail.

"I'll have to tell him tomorrow. I didn't expect to have to explain to a six-year-old something I barely understand myself."

"There was never going to be an easy way to do this. Perhaps it's best that he's young; he'll have time to get used to the idea before reason tells him it's impossible."

"Perhaps."

Abigail let go of Henry's hands and kissed his cheek. "You're his father; you don't need to be worried about telling him."

Henry kept those words in mind as he laid awake in bed, long after Abigail had drifted off. He wasn't quite sure that he believed them, but Abigail was usually right, so he willed himself to try. Only tomorrow would tell.


End file.
